Ashbel Smith grew to manhood in Connecticut, the New England mini-state less than two percent the size of present-day Texas. The outstanding student graduated Phi Betta Kappa from Yale, went on to earn a degree in medicine and at 23 became a licensed physician in North Carolina.

Dr. Smith took a sabbatical in 1831 to pursue advanced medical research in Paris, France. Besides King Louis Philippe and numerous European notables, he befriended two Americans on the fast track to fame - inventor Samuel Morse and James Fenimore Cooper, the novelist.

The well-traveled doctor eventually returned to Dixie and resumed his practice. After months of persistent pestering by James Pinckney Henderson, he finally took the advice of the governor-to-be to come and see the year-old Republic.

Within a week of his May 1837 arrival at the capital of Houston, Smith was sharing the presidential quarters of the town's namesake. He must have made a heck of a first impression on Sam Houston, who soon surprised his houseguest with the unsolicited post of surgeon general.

During the election campaign of 1838, Smith showed an invaluable knack for treading the thinnest of lines. He managed to maintain cordial relations with temperamental Houston, while backing the general's archenemy Mirabeau Lamar for the presidency.

Despite a docile demeanor, Smith more than held his own in rough-and-tumble Texas. A loose-lipped politician tossed an insult in his direction only to rue the rash words after the doctor administered a merciless horsewhipping.

Taking his second turn at the helm in 1841, Houston asked his former roommate to act as a one-man foreign service. Smith's familiarity with Europe and fluency in French made the jack-of-all-trades the ideal choice for charge d'affaires to Great Britain and France.

The diplomatic challenge was complicated by poor communications and even worse finances. Smith somehow overcame the seemingly insurmountable obstacles and succeeded in strengthening Texas' ties with the European countries.

Anson Jones replaced Houston as president in December 1844, and the dog-tired diplomat headed home for the first time in two years. Private plans had to be put on hold, however, when the new chief executive prevailed upon him to fill in as secretary of state.

Annexation was back on the American agenda, and in Texas public sentiment heavily favored the long delayed adoption. Jones and Smith viewed the prospect with healthy skepticism in view of past problems with Washington and intended to protect the Republic's flanks.

Smith cleverly exploited French and British fears of U.S. expansion to the Pacific. Energetic arm-twisting by the paranoid Europeans resulted in Mexican recognition of Texas with the stipulation that the former province remain a sovereign nation. But the coerced concession came too late to stop the statehood stampede.

Texans were willing to forgive and forget their shabby treatment by the Potomac politicians once the Revolution had become yesterday's news. For his prudent attempt to safeguard Lone Star interests against a possible repeat of the 1837 betrayal, Smith was severely criticized in the press and even burned in effigy.

Not one to keep silent when convinced he was right, Smith openly questioned the wisdom of annexation for the rest of his days. An 1875 recitation of the many promises broken by the federal government since the loss of independence was greeted with nods of rueful agreement.

Smith continued to serve on many fronts. He fought in the Mexican and Civil Wars, and as a 57 year old Confederate colonel took a bullet at the Battle of Shiloh. Elected three times to the state, his final term came at age 73.

Smith's most lasting contributions were in the field of public education. Instrumental in the creation of the Texas Medical College at Galveston and the Agricultural and Mechanical College for Colored Youth, forerunner of Prairie View A&M, he also was the primary architect of the University of Texas.

Ashbel Smith stayed active well into his ninth decade with a keen mind and resilient spirit. When he was laid to a hard-earned rest in 1886, Texas lost an irreplaceable "Renaissance Man."